


the careful, careful lies you tell yourself

by smallredboy



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Bisexuality, Denial of Feelings, First Kiss, Human Disaster James Wilson, M/M, Multi, Threesome - F/M/M, but i still tagged it M bc. Ya Know, theres no much description of the sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-11-02 01:57:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17878925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallredboy/pseuds/smallredboy
Summary: Wilson is talked into a threesome with House and a hooker and finds himself paying much more attention to his best friend than the girl in between himself and House.Or, alternatively,It’s Not Gay If It’s A Three-Way - The Lonely Island (10 Hours)





	the careful, careful lies you tell yourself

**Author's Note:**

> fills the menage a trois square in my allbingo valentine's day card
> 
> gay rights!
> 
> enjoy!

Wilson isn’t too sure why he agreed to this — how on earth he thought at some point this was a good idea.

But House was already only in his boxers, and he’d already called up the hooker they were gonna share, so it wasn’t like he could back out now. He’d shown him a picture of the girl, anyway — she was pretty, a few years younger than Wilson, probably, and she’s cute.

And there’s no reason to not do this, anyway. It doesn’t have anything to do with House and the way he smiles or his alleged big package. It’s that he wants to see how good she is to be one of House’s favorite hookers, and cross off ‘have sex with a hooker’ off House’s bucket list for him.

That’s all there is to be seen here.

“I mean, it’s not like it matters anyway,” House says as Wilson strips down, “but it’s just two guys having fun together. Nothin’ gay about that.”   


Wilson looks at him. House stares back. It’s like there’s something to be spoken of there, but there isn’t, so he obliges and sits down, waiting for the knock at the door. They’re at a hotel, of course, and the hooker is used to it by now, he doubts she’ll be surprised by two guys having at her at the same time.

It doesn’t matter, Wilson, he tells himself, it’s just guys being guys. Guys being dudes. There’s nothing going on. He gives a look at House only in his boxers, with his torso and his chest hair and he looks up a little and sees those stupid blue eyes of his—

He draws in a breath. Yes, there’s nothing going on here.

The hooker is, in fact, pretty. Her name is Alice, at least she goes by that while working. House kisses her with too little care, disrobing her and groaning against her mouth. Wilson sort-of stares blankly, trying to focus on Alice’s curves and the way she smiles and the way she laughs, and what underwear she’s wearing, and not how House grinds against her mindlessly.

There’s nothing going on here, he reminds himself.

House looks at him, and fiddles with his boxers.

“We’ve seen each other’s dicks before,” Wilson deadpans. “Stop being a pussy.”

House rolls his eyes and pulls his boxers down and off, and Alice sinks to her knees. Something inside Wilson hurts a little.  “You’re the pussy here. You still got socks on.”   
  
“Maybe I like having sex with my socks on?” he retorts.

“No, you don’t.”

No, he doesn’t.

Wilson sighs and pulls off his socks and boxers, and he feels awkward in his own skin, especially as he watches his best friend get a blowjob. This is probably his lowest point. No, this is definitely his lowest point. Why did he agree to this? House makes a noise, a moan, and it’s like all the blood in his face rushes down south.

_ Oh _ .   


House gives him a look, and he assumes it’s an invitation to stop being shy, so he wraps a hand around his length, and tries to ignore how much of his attention is going towards House rather than Alice.

After a few minutes, they’re on the stupid king-sized bed— he wonders, briefly, if the hotel receptionist thinks House is a married man with how comfortable the bed is; if they think he’s married to him. But there’s not much time for those questions, because Alice is laying on her side, and House is behind her, and he knows he’s supposed to do something and not stare like he’s a voyeur with a problem or something.

And so he lets her blow him. And he enjoys it— Alice has a great mouth, it’s good, it’s great, even, but he can’t appreciate it too much with how distracted he is. 

When House finishes, she finishes a minute or two after, and Wilson stares, and he looks at House’s mouth and how it opens when he’s in the brink of orgasm, how his eyes flutter shut and his grip on Alice’s shoulder tightens, and he’s so handsome and he looks so good and —

Wilson comes.

A long, shuddering breath comes out of him, and Alice pulls away from both of them. House throws the condom into the trash, and then turns to look at Wilson like the wheels are turning in his brain. He can hear the tick of the clock, and his blood roars in his ears, and Alice puts her hand on his thigh before standing up and starting to get dressed.

“You know,” House starts, “I did say that it didn’t matter anyway.”   
  
He doesn’t reply, and so House pulls himself closer to him. “And I meant it.”   
  
“Maybe—” Wilson’s head is spinning. He doesn’t think he can speak in this state.

“Maybe there’s something a little gay about having a threesome with your best friend.” House looks down at him, and he smiles, and his hair is all fucked up.

Wilson thinks it isn’t humanly possible for a heart to beat this fast. 

“And you don’t mind that,” he manages to say.

“Not at all.”

House leans forward too quick for him to register it— and  _ kisses  _ him, and it’s like all the endorphins from his climax come flooding back. He holds him tight, and when House pulls away they don’t say anything, they just stare at each other in awe. House absentmindedly gives Alice her pay, and she slips out of the room.

Wilson puts a hand on House’s hip, and he smiles, and Wilson smiles wider as they bump foreheads.

“God,” Wilson breathes.

House pulls him in, kisses him again and again until it’s like he’s high off this happiness.

It’s infectious, based on how House laughs a little and lets him close, closer than ever before. He barely registers the fact he’s kissing House, and he barely registers the tick of the clock, and he barely registers how he wants to fall asleep with this man in his arms, or in this man’s arms.

“Goddammit,” Wilson breathes, again and again, kissing him like he’s the only thing that matters in this world.


End file.
